Syn-En: Registration Page 8

  “Are you hunting all the slaves?” Holding tight to the bag, Pet fast-walked to the helmet and emptied the loose stuff inside.

  “No.” Red tumbled in her peripheral vision. She straightened. The aliens were returning. Would training her weapon on Pet keep them at bay? “My team and I are making certain that the protocols for registering haven’t changed. I have a very large team. Well armed, too.”

  She spoke loud enough for the Padgows and Ck’sons to hear.

  The mopheads rolled under the hedges and hugged the foundations of the houses lining the street. Clinging to the roof peaks, the praying mantises watched. Neither attempted to move closer.

  Elvis trotted onto the street, holding his saddle bags in front of his chest. “You may carry this as well.”

  He tossed the bag at Pet’s feet.

  Scooping it up, the man flung it over his shoulder. “The Amarooks were registered alongside the Skaperians.”

  Nell rolled her eyes. The man was fixated on the Amarooks. “We’re registering humans for sentience. Since they’re our allies, the Amarooks are our sponsor.”

  Pet dropped the pack. Pouches of rations, a water purifier, and a change of underwear scattered across the street. “You can’t.”

  The mopheads popped like jumping beans, scattering leaves on the patches of tended lawn before the houses. Two Ck’son slid off the roof and crashed onto the balconies.

  “We can sponsor whomever we like.” Elvis smoothed his black feathers back then twirled one into a curl in front of his forehead. “And we like most humans.”

  Stooping, Nell plucked her underwear from the mess and tucked it into her pants’ pocket. She caught the subtext. Elvis would still kill even Pet to protect her. “Thank you, Elvis.”

  “Uh-huh,” the Amarook drawled.

  “But to declare sentience, humans have to have a home world to claim as their own. And it can only be theirs.” Pet raked everything into a pile.

  The Skaperians hadn’t mentioned that little hang-up. Still, there was Earth, and Mars, and humanity had been rehabbing Venus when the Syn-En had been declared traitors by the powers that be. That made three home worlds. “We have two, maybe even three planets that are ours.”

  He shook his head so vigorously, his ponytail slapped his shoulders. “But it usually has to be the one the species evolved on. Since the Erwar disaster, sentience must now include not spoiling your home world.”

  “We have that, and a spare.” Given the man’s lack of understanding, Nell wanted another human guide. Heck, maybe she’d even settle for Fu-Manchu or Idge. At least then she’d know her translator worked right.

  Pet hugged the helmet and bag. “But Earth was destroyed.”

  Her mouth dropped open. No. That couldn’t be right. The Syn-En monitored the surveillance probes in the wormhole connecting Terra Dos to Earth’s solar system. Nothing indicated the ruling government was sending an army after the Syn-En or that the planet had been destroyed. She knew. She’d seen the reports. “When was Earth blown up?”

  “Eighty rotations ago. A solar flare incinerated all life on the planet.” Pet hung his head. “All hope of sentience died with it.”

  “Rotations?” What unit of time was that? She glanced at Elvis.

  “Roughly one-point-one Earth years.” The Amarook’s ears twitched. He sniffed the air, then started down the street.

  Nell rounded down and did the math. Eighty years. She rubbed the kinks out of her neck. “Earth is fine. My team walked on it not more than nine months ago. Three quarters of a rotation.”

  Pet’s manicured eyebrows drew together. “But they said…”

  They were in for a rude awakening. Not as rude as the aliens who’d kidnapped her husband and his men, but rude nonetheless. “They lied. Humanity is fine. And we’re coming to register.”

  Then they’d kick a few aliens’ butts.

  “We’ll be free!” The Ck’son clicked their mandibles together and the Padgows tumbled out from under the bushes.

  Nell stumbled back. Good God. “They’re human?”

  Shaking his head, Pet bit his lip. “No, but…” He studied the cracks in the street.

  “But what?”

  Red dotted his checks. Finally, he squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “We pledged one another that the first species to declare sentience would claim the others as companions.”

  Nell opened and closed her mouth. Words wouldn’t come. They had just tried to kill her. On his orders. And now they both wanted a favor? Unbelievable. But she needed their help.

  What about Bei and the Syn-En?

  Her husband would feel honor-bound to keep her promise. Heck, he’d probably make it himself, given how these aliens had been treated.

  The aliens’ cheers faded. The mopheads huddled together near the curb. The mantises stroked one another.

  “We, humans, would not have survived without the others.” Pet thrust out his jaw. “And with Earth destroyed, we were getting the better of the deal.”

  She took a breath. How did she find herself in these messes? “Are companions slaves?”

  Bei and the other Syn-En wouldn’t accept that. She wouldn’t accept that.

  “No,” Pet set his free hand on the pile of goods. “They and all their children are free, but must live within their companion’s territory until their own species proves itself worthy.”

  That didn’t sound too bad. Terra Dos wasn’t exactly over populated. “So we’d have to claim these two——”

  “Three.” Pet flashed three fingers before securing her survival kit. “The Shish tend the underwater gardens, keeping us all fed.”

  “Of course.” This whole surreal experience wouldn’t be complete without aqua-aliens. “The three species are claimed when…”

  “You register humanity.” Pet finished the sentence for her. “It is the only time a species is able to declare companions.”

  “Okay then.” There was far more to this registration than the Skaperians let on.

  Pacing two houses away, Elvis shot her an image of Pet muzzled along with a side of impatience.

  She shuffled to the Amarook’s side.

  Pet didn’t budge. “Okay then. What does that mean?”

  Sighing, she faced her recalcitrant guide. “It means yes. Everyone gets emancipated. Now, please take me to the ambassador’s house.”

  Pet jogged toward her. “Yes, let us celebrate in splendor. We’ll even crack open a vintage bottle of Skaperian wine. They can’t complain since they’re all dead.”

  Nell stopped in her tracks. “What?”

  “The last Skaperian died nearly one hundred-twenty rotations ago.” Pet skipped up the road. “The Founding Five sealed us inside when the Surlat Strain broke out. Within a week, our masters were dead or dying.”

  Fu-Manchu slid down a column and padded softly across the grass. “Nearly took out our ancestors, too. But some survived.”

  Pet’s grin faded. “They watched the world outside die as the virus changed and changed again, until the whole planet was infected.”

  Nell stumbled. That’s what happened to Erwar? Her nails dug into her palms. And the Skaperians had deliberately infected Earth. She sucked in a breath. “Are you telling me there are no Skaperians here?”

  No one to help her rescue Bei.

  No one to warn the approaching Syn-En fleet of the danger.

  “Yep.” Pet increased his pace. “We’re free. And soon it will be official. Humanity is going to register, and we’ll never be slaves again.”

  Elvis brushed her leg, slid his furry hand against hers.

  Nell held on. She had to do something and soon.

  The Syn-En delegation and fleet were heading into a trap.

  Chapter 11

  Bei scraped the shovel over the uneven ground and tossed the pile of ore into the bucket. Scoop. Lift. Dump. The repetitive nature of the task allowed his mind to plan phase one of his escape. Unfortunately, executing it would reveal he had his memory b
ack.

  No way would he endure another reprogramming by Bug-ugly and his stinky friend.

  Leaning on the shovel, he wiped his dry forehead on his sleeve and glanced down the tunnel.

  Lines of humans formed a moving bucket brigade and ferried buckets of ore to the carts. Two gandy dancers hammered more rail spikes into the rock floor, allowing the carts to move closer. Dust fogged the bare bulbs hanging from the rock and providing illumination.

  Two Scraptors guarded the elevator. Energy rifles rested across their armored forearms.

  He could probably sustain three or four hits before being affected. But he needed that elevator to reach Keyes. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of cornering him in a box on a string.

  Not when there was another way.

  Ten tons today, another eight next shift, and the Deutche clan would earn enough points to visit the pleasure rooms, free of suspicion.

  Once there, he could reset Keyes.

  Ruth hurried forward and set her empty pail on the ground near his boots. Dirt streaked the little girl’s face. Her brown eyes twinkled above her toothy grin. “We’re gonna make ten tons today. We’re gonna have bread.”

  “Absolutely.” And beating the other shift would get him to his communications officer before her husband arrived. According to their quota levels, the clan that took in Rome would show up a few hours later. Bei would have both his men back on line by tomorrow.

  Crouching, Ruth added a few more loose rocks to the bucket he’d just filled. “You should fill it just to here.” She pointed to an inch below the lip. “I can lift it.”

  “Will do.” Bei winked at her. No way in hell would he over burden the malnourished child. The others could handle it.

  When she lifted the bucket, her small muscles bulged on her thin arms. Her brow furrowed before she turned and staggered away. “Remember what I said.”

  Bei quickly filled another bucket to overflowing.

  Ruth’s father, Job, approached. The leader of the Deutche clan glanced into his daughter’s pail as they passed. Holding his own bucket in his hand, he tousled her shoulder-length hair. “Good job, little one.”

  “I want bread.” She sidestepped before holding her burden in both hands.

  “I can tell.” Job shook his head and sauntered forward.

  Crouching down, Bei worked his arms under a large boulder. He mentally raised his prostheses to level three and lifted. Sensors indicated low levels of gold, silver and titanium.

  Standing in Bei’s path, Job set his empty bucket down and picked the full one. “She complaining about her load again?”

  “She really wants bread.” Bei considered holding the boulder in one arm to squeeze around the man but decided against it. Bug-ugly and his stinky friend were already considering returning to Earth and capturing more humans. Right now, he worked three times faster than his unaltered companions.

  Right now, the Scraptor and the green Munician weighed the potential profit against the cost of harvesting Earth.

  If Bei showed off his true strength, that balance would shift. And then, there was the matter of the spy.

  Abraham worked in the newly demolished four-by-four meter tunnel. He filled only one bucket for Bei’s three and hadn’t even tried to keep up. His behavior was not on the side of the Deutche clan. He looked after himself.

  As before, Job fell into step beside Bei. “You sure you can keep up this pace?”

  Bei sighed. Every hour for the last eleven and a half, the leader had asked the same question. And received the same answer. “I’m fine.”

  “It’s just…” Job stumbled and rocks slid out of his bucket. “Our expected quota is the average of two day’s work. Since the clan did ten tons today then our new quota is seven tons for the next. We’re down ten diggers. If something happens to you, we’ll starve. You’re working enough for practically all of them.”

  Bei tossed his boulder into the ore cart—the last one needing to be filled before they reached their goal. The rock clanged against the metal sides before thudding to a stop on the bottom. He hadn’t calculated that into his escape plans. Damn. He’d have to enter ET’s cyberworld and their damn antivirus software. “Won’t the quota reset after two days?”

  “Nope. Quotas only go up, not down.” Job heaved his bucket over the cart’s side. Puffs of dust rose, and he coughed.

  Bei’s nose flaps covered his nostrils and filtered the debris, yet he could still taste the grit rolling between his teeth. How did they do this day after day, year after year? On Earth, machines did the mining. If ET distrusted technology so much, why did they keep him, Rome and Keyes alive? “I’ll just have to make sure I don’t go anywhere until our clan’s numbers go up.”

  At least, not for long. Bei sauntered back to his position.

  Two clean-shaven youths patted him on the back. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when we’d get bread again.”

  Bei’s sensors detected their malnourishment and the black-haired youth’s fever. Son of a bitch. Bei slipped into cyberspace. Alien wingdings flew around his avatar. He quickly located the quotas and inserted a bit of code to reset them after his visit to the pleasure rooms.

  A Doberman howled.

  He’d been detected. The skin across Bei’s shoulders tightened. His pixelated fingers spun a line of code while he searched for the rations program. Dipping in and out of the data stream, he located a tin of food. Gotcha. He scanned the bytes. Not a glitch, but greed. The guards skimmed protein and carbohydrates off the food meant for the diggers.

  Dog claws scratched the floor and a growl hit his back.

  Just a little longer. Bei inserted the line of code just as teeth sank into his ankle. He jerked out of cyberspace. His toes were numb but it was worth it. The clan would receive a small bonus every night.

  At the guards’ expense.

  Admiral, Nell’s file is still unopened.

  In the distance, he heard the Doberman’s snuffle.

  The antiviral program could sniff around all it wanted. His cerebral interface bounced off an unprotected ET program. He was free to roam this bit of cyberspace.

  Understood. His cardiac center hiccoughed. Picking up the shovel, he filled the line of buckets. Scoop. Lift. Dump. His spade rammed into a large boulder. The abrupt stop jarred his arm. Time to stop delaying the inevitable. Open the file.

  Bei kept filling the line of buckets and nodded as people lined up to take them, but he didn’t encourage them to talk.

  The data clip unspooled inside his head, flashed pictures along his optical sensor. The Icarus’s hull gleamed in the starlight as his ship shot through space. Bei ran his translator subroutine on the symbols streaming down the side.

  He bit back a curse. ET had been tracking them for ten light years.

  And he hadn’t suspected a thing.

  He fast forwarded until another sensor added a new column to the data stream. His pulse quickened. The targeting system came on-line. He compared it to the Syn-En’s and the Skaperian’s defenses. Just a hair more advanced, but…

  Bei licked his lips. But ET’s system would be easily fooled for short periods of time by modulating the fusion reactors. He made a notation just as the Electromagnetic pulse washed over his ship.

  Not a single light flicker on his beetle-shaped craft. His ally’s technology had protected the ship.

  So why had his cerebral interface been overcome by the surge?

  Bei stilled. A rock tumbled from his full spade. Could the smug featherheaded Skaperians have set up the Syn-En? The rest of the universe ran on free human labor, and the Skaperians hadn’t been any different.

  The image of the Icarus tightened, until the ET’s craft docked with his ship.

  Son of a— The bastards cut through his hull to board. If Nell hadn’t made it to the safe room… He cut off the thought. Elvis would have dragged her there himself. The Amarook wouldn’t have been affected by the EMP.

  Someone cleared his throat.

&
nbsp; “Almost quitting time.” Job shifted the bucket under Bei’s shovel. “And the cart’s nearly full.”

  “Right.” Bei dumped the ore into the bucket, just as ET’s ship pulled away. He continued scooping up the shattered rock, kept ramming the spade into the boulder.

  A cushion flew out of the gash in the Icarus’s hull, and the craft changed course slightly. Had he imagined it? He checked the readouts.

  It had changed course.

  Had Nell taken over? Sweat broke out on Bei’s upper lip. Hell, she was heading right for an asteroid. He’d bet his left arm the maneuver was based on some old video clip.

  Targeting glowed in the stream of data.

  The shovel dropped from his hands. No. No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t.

  A beam of energy shot through space. It burned through the Icarus’s hull, targeting his ship’s soft belly.

  And the fusion reactor.

  A moment later, the ship exploded in a ball of orange and white light.

  Nell was gone.

  His wife was dead.

  And it was his fault. He’d told her to hide, promised that she would be safe. But she wasn’t, and stupid machine that he was, he’d been switched off at the moment she’d needed him most.

  Rage subsumed his control, overrode his protocols. Bending over he picked up the boulder.

  Admiral, I don’t think this is wise.

  Screw wise. Red filled his visions. The guards. The same species as the bastards that had killed his wife. Bei hurled the boulder down the tunnel. “That’s for Nell!”

  Humans ducked, dove for the ground.

  The boulder sailed over their heads. It crashed to the floor, spraying sharp chunks in all directions then slid another ten meters.

  The guards watched but didn’t raise their weapons.

  They weren’t afraid.

  Bei would teach them fear. Compression sensors flared inside his head. He lowered his chin.

  A hand pushed against his chest. Job blocked his path. “Shift is over.”

  Over his shoulder, Bei watch Ruth push to her feet. The little girl swiped at the blood weeping from the cut on her cheek.

  He’d done that to her. Him, a Syn-En admiral who’d sworn never to harm an innocent civilian again. Bei caged his rage, listened to it rattle the bars, search for weaknesses in his control.